


in the dark

by sina



Series: just be mine [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Hurt without the comfort, M/M, Non Explicit Sex, art school au, breaking up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 18:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16225037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sina/pseuds/sina
Summary: Maybe Kent had felt more for Jack than Jack had felt for him all along. Maybe this was just a blip on Jack’s radar, a little art school fling for him to get the release he needed before going off to the big times. Maybe Jack didn’t really like him at all to begin with.





	in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> OH boy. Please don't kill me after you read this. I can promise there will be more soon! I hope that's enough guarantee that you'll come back to see how this resolves.
> 
> Many thanks as always to Sam @blazeofglory and a new thank you to Anna @halfdesertedstreets for cheerleading and beta'ing this! I can't wait to see your reactions based off of theirs.
> 
> Again, this isn't the end! Keep an eye out for more soon.

Kent screams too loud, not for the first time, as Jack bites down, hard, on his jugular. Jack knows it’s the exact spot that can get Kent instantly wanton in his arms. As he continues pumping his hips, Kent whines greedily, and clamps his eyes shut against the heat. His hands are joined behind Jack’s neck, and he pulls them down eagerly to sloppily mouth at Jack’s lips. Jack finally moans his way to climax, and thrusts frantically, before stilling in Kent’s arms and collapsing on top of him.

“God, baby,” Kent moans. “That’s gonna leave a mark.” 

“I hope so,” Jack murmurs, lowering his head to kiss delicately at the bite. Kent pants beneath him, raising his hands to mess up Jack’s hair from behind. Jack chuckles and readjusts so he can look Kent in the eye beneath him.

“You’re something else,” Jack whispers into the night. Kent smirks and tousles Jack’s hair again. He then lowers his hands to Jack’s face, then brings him in for the thousandth, millionth kiss, already wondering when he’ll get to give him more. 

“I’m your something else,” Kent whispers back.

They fall asleep tangled together, Jack’s face wedged between Kent’s ear and his shoulder, Kent breathing deeply beneath the weight of Jack’s comforting presence.

 

***

 

After a few months, Jack has taken to walking Kent to his Figure Drawing II class. He’s continued modeling for each class session, after assurances from Kent that it wouldn’t be that awkward. 

Oddly, today he seems to fidget and stumble as they walk.

“Dude, you okay?” Kent finally asks, wrapping an arm around Jack’s waist. Jack’s shaking, he notes. He’s a little worried, until --

“Uh,” Jack begins. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

Kent and his heart both stop in their tracks. Jack keeps walking for a step, and needs to turn around to address Kent again.

“I’m sorry,” he prefaces. “I’ve just been thinking -- and with spring break coming up, and graduation for me -- and you know how nervous I get --”

Kent starts shaking his head. He can’t believe it’s come to this, so suddenly, so soon. Had they not just started dating? Had it not been so recently that they had crashed into each other so beautifully, so quickly falling into each other’s arms?

“You’re not making any sense, Jack,” he interjects. “This is -- it’s been six months next week, and I thought --”

“We can still -- you know, we can still go out and everything -- I was just thinking… I need to pump the brakes a little, that’s all.” He reaches behind his head and rubs at the back of his neck. “This, my future, is something I need to figure out on my own, and I can’t --”

“You can’t? You can’t what? Why are you doing this here?” Kent asks, exasperated. They’re in the middle of the street in the late-winter sun, and he whispers harshly as his face reddens beneath his beanie, flushing with anger. 

“Kent, don’t -- it’s not --”

“It’s not what, Jack? It’s not me? It’s you, not me, is that what you’re about to say?” Kent’s voice rises with his anger, and he moves swiftly into Jack’s personal space. “What about last night, huh? What was that, was it, fuck, was it break up sex to you? Was I just a fling to you?” Kent’s straight out yelling at this point, and Jack frantically looks around them to see if anyone is watching.

“You’re jumping to conclusions,” he stage-whispers, trying his best to calm Kent down. “I’m not -- I’m not trying to break up with you, I’m --”

“Then what, Jack? What does ‘pump the brakes’ even mean, if you’re not breaking up with me?”

“I just need to slow down! You’re everywhere, okay, and I can’t make a good decision if all I can think about is you! I just need to slow down!” he repeats, becoming exasperated.

“It’s a little too fucking late for that, buddy,” Kent spits, turning on his heel to continue his walk.

“Kent, wait,” Jack says, hustling to catch up. “It’s not--”

“No,” Kent snaps with finality. “If you’re going to break up with me, then just break up with me.”

“I don’t want --”

“Bullshit!” He jabs a finger into Jack’s chest. “Either you want me or you don’t! Which is it going to be?”

“I can’t keep doing this,” Jack finally breathes. “I need time to think, okay? And you’re being completely irrational --”

“I’m being irrational? Jack! We can’t date and not date at the same time! You’re -- you’re so --” he grunts and stalks off again. Jack follows, though Kent isn’t so sure he wants him to anymore.

They don’t speak again until they reach the drawing building. Kent grabs his wallet and shows his ID to the desk jockey, then stomps up to the classroom with Jack making apologetic faces in his wake. 

“Kent, babe -- I -- I mean --”

“Spit it out, Jack,” Kent mutters as he sets up his easel.

“I gotta go get ready. Are you gonna be okay?”

Kent snorts and ignores him. Jack simply backs away and heads out of the classroom, presumably to change into his robe. Kent snaps a pencil as he jams it into his tray, and he grumbles all over again.

He looks up, and his classmates are staring.

“What?” he asks plaintively. He doesn’t wait for a reaction, simply breathing deeply while he tries to calm down and lay out the rest of his supplies.

The first 20 minutes of class pass uneventfully, and it gives Kent a chance to calm down. He grounds himself, counting down backwards from 200, until his heart stops pounding and his blood stops rushing to his face. 

When Jack reenters, a pit forms in his stomach. He looks heartbroken, his face fallen and shadowed. Kent watches as he quickly composes himself at the door. _Not your problem anymore_ , he thinks as he returns to his sketchbook. The thought hits him like a bag of bricks to the gut.

As usual, Professor Rose has him set up the model stand in the middle, and Jack steps up and gingerly sits in the chair Kent places there.

“You can keep your robe on, Jack,” she announces. “Today we’re drawing the face.”

Kent pays little attention as he goes to sharpen his pencils. He can do this. It’s just Jack’s face. Jack’s beautiful, chiseled features and glistening, deep eyes. He takes a breath and steels himself as he resumes his seat on the drawing horse.

“Let’s have you face this way,” Rose says, turning Jack’s head so Kent has a ¾ view. 

As he begins sketching, he notices how steely Jack’s features have become. So set, so resolved, and so blank. Kent tries to draw quietly, but his heart has started pounding again; he sweats in his seat and his hands smudge the lines as he passes over them. He continues working for about forty minutes, slowly growing more and more nauseated the more he has to focus on Jack’s face.

Because he’s noticed that Jack’s face does nothing to betray their conversation on the way to class. Jack looks resolved and calm, beyond just doing an expression for a job. He’s placid and stony, but reserved and convicted.

It makes Kent feel sick.

“Good, Kent,” Rose whispers for the first time as she passes by his work. She offers no other commentary, except, “You have a great grasp of his features. These planes here are angled perfectly, and you’ve captured the depth in his eyes nicely. Go for some shade on this side, not too dark.”

After another few minutes of drawing, Kent’s had enough. He wobbles as he stands from his seat, and he speedwalks to the door on the other side of the classroom.

He runs in the hallway toward the bathroom. As soon as he gets there, he bends over the trash can and pukes, the door slamming behind him. He heaves and coughs, spluttering into the garbage, and wipes his eyes as he stands. He gasps for breath, eyes streaming despite his best efforts to wipe the tears away. He lingers in the bathroom for several moments, trying to compose himself, before tearing off his beanie and screaming into it.

This is so fucked up. Just last night everything had seemed fine -- Jack knew just where to go, just what to do to drive Kent crazy, and he’d slept over like Kent’s bed was his own. Where had that gone? Was Jack already getting ready to dump Kent at that point? How long was this in the making?

_But he didn’t really dump you_ , a small voice offers. Kent stifles it anyway. Maybe Kent had felt more for Jack than Jack had felt for him all along. Maybe this was just a blip on Jack’s radar, a little art school fling for him to get the release he needed before going off to the big times. Maybe Jack didn’t really like him at all to begin with.

Kent feels instantly sick, and vomits all over again.

After taking minutes and moments to calm himself, he resolutely walks back to class and begins packing up his things.

Professor Rose wanders over, a look of concern on her usually stony face. 

“Mr. Parson? Everything okay?”

“I just got sick,” he admits quietly. “I think I need to go home.”

“This will count as one of your absences,” she reminds him before turning to look at other students’ work.

Kent grunts at the unfairness of it, but knows he can’t stay. He risks a look at Jack, but Jack hasn’t moved a muscle, hasn’t changed one iota of his body or face.

Kent huffs out a breath and heads toward the exit.

***

Jack (6:16): Are you all right? You left class really early.  
Jack (6:16): I heard Professor Rose say your drawing was really good. I know you’re mad at me but I’d love to see it sometime.  
Jack (6:30): Kent? Are you okay?  
Jack (6:47): Kent?

Kent ignores the messages.

***

It’s been raining on and off for the past week. Kent takes the opportunity of a dry moment to take the bus to the grocery store, the dark clouds perfectly reflecting his stormy mood.

He needs food and he needs a subject for his next still life.

Spring break has passed uneventfully. He even stopped hearing from Jack, eventually. He opted to stay in the dorms rather than break his wallet trying to fly home; his mom wouldn’t be sympathetic to the situation, anyway. She still doesn’t see why he’s wasting his precious time with boys. Kent huffs, just thinking about it, and allows his head to slam against the window of the bus.

The bus rumbles and quakes, the window smacking repeatedly into Kent’s head, so he straightens up again and sighs. He has friends, of course, and he’s been keeping in touch with his sister, but he can’t help the way he feels now that Jack’s gone.

Lonely.

The wind shakes some droplets loose from the trees as he exits the bus at the corner stop. He meanders through the aisles of the grocery store, not concentrating except to pick up a handful of oranges and grapefruits from the produce. These will be in his next painting; he just spent an exorbitant amount of money on a large tube of orange paint. He’ll never know why the orange was so expensive compared to the rest, but he’ll deal. He needs to indulge himself right now.

He gathers up some frozen dinners and heads to the self checkout. Despite his better judgment, he grabs paper bags instead of plastic. The environment, or whatever, he figures.

He gears up to go outside, where it’s now drizzling. He jams his beanie on his head and takes a deep breath, steeling himself before heading out into the cold.

He keeps his head down on his way to the bus stop, but stops short when he hears a quiet, “Hey, Kent.”

He whips around to see his least favorite person of the hour, Jack Zimmermann.

“What?” he asks, in some approximation of calmness.

“Kent, I -- just listen for a sec?” Jack shifts his weight on his feet sheepishly.

Kent says nothing, but stills, listening.

“Kent, it’s… I need to say sorry,” Jack says. “I keep -- I just -- a few weeks ago, when I, uh, tried to slow things down, I shouldn’t have done it the way I did. I shouldn’t have done it in public, before class, and so soon. I’ve been thinking --” Kent snorts, interrupting him.

“Uh, yeah,” Jack says, running a hand through his damp hair.

Kent nods, urging Jack to continue.

“I’m just -- I’m really sorry, Kent. Things haven’t been the same without you, and --”

“Don’t,” Kent says quietly. “Don’t, Jack. I get it. You didn’t want to be with me anymore, and I get it. It’s fine.” 

He turns to leave, but Jack calls, “Wait, Kenny.”

Kent stills. He’s never been called that before. It’s too endearing. It’s too close.

“I said don’t!” he shouts as he turns back around. “You wanted to leave, Jack, and you did! I felt -- I’ve never -- I’ve never liked someone like I liked you, and you didn’t want me, and it’s simple, so can we just leave it at that?”

He makes to turn around again, but Jack says, “Really?” in the most delicate voice. Electricity runs up Kent’s spine, and he suddenly can’t go.

“I mean… I… well, yeah,” Kent admits. “You couldn’t tell?”

“I --” Jack starts, but he’s interrupted by the sound of paper tearing.

After spending enough time in the drizzle, Kent’s grocery bags have disintegrated. The bottom rips out of the bag of citrus, and the oranges and grapefruits tumble out into the dirty puddles at his feet.

“Fuck!” he shouts, looking around frantically as the fruit rolls away. 

The grapefruits roll into the gutter and the oranges are already bruised by the impact. “Fuck,” Kent mutters again, tossing the ruined bag onto the pavement.

“Here, let me --” Jack begins calmly.

“Don’t!” Kent screams again. “Enough, Jack! Just leave me alone, okay? I’ve had enough!” Kent grabs the paper bag and strides over to the recycling bin, where he jams it in and kicks the side in frustration. Jack backs away, finally getting the idea.

“Kenny,” he calls.

“What part of ‘enough’ don’t you understand?” Kent whips around, rage and salty tears rimming his eyes. Jack just stands there as Kent bounds back into the supermarket to buy more fruit.

He grabs a basket and, fuming, stomps back into the produce. He grabs more citrus without checking it, and muscles his way through the crowd to the checkout. He picks plastic, this time, and jams the fruit into it. When he whips his card out to pay, though, he gets another unwanted message: his card’s been declined. 

He screams wordlessly and slams his fist against the machine. He takes off before anyone notices, and exits the store into pouring rain. Jack’s nowhere to be found.

The bus isn’t at the stop, and he doesn’t bother checking his app to see when it’ll arrive. He simply turns toward the direction of his dorm and strides as far as his feet will carry him.

Eventually, the anger ebbs away into frustration and sadness. He can’t stop the tears from coming once they’ve started, and his stiff raincoat does nothing to soak them up as he frantically wipes at his face. 

He arrives at home, a soaking, red-faced mess, and collapses onto the kitchen floor. No one’s home, ostensibly out on spring break trips. He sits there, dripping, for what seems like eons before standing to head to his room.

He goes to his closet to grab a towel, and finds the one he gave Jack on that first night. He stares at it, feeling the ratted edges tenderly, before he drops it and moves on to the next one.

Maybe he should throw it away.

He dries off perfunctorily before settling down in bed. He pulls out his phone and texts his mom:

Me (2:24): Can you call? Card got declined.

The phone starts ringing immediately, and he swipes the answer button with too much force.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Kent, sweetie, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just mis-budgeted. I went to buy some groceries, but I spent too much on paint, and I…. god, I just….”

“Kent, honey, slow down. It’s all right. I’ll put $30 in your account, is that enough?”

“Yeah, Mom, yeah. Thanks. I just need to buy some fruit for a still life and I didn’t have enough.”

“You sound like you’re having a rough time. Is everything okay?”

“I just…” He opts to be honest this time. “I just got dumped.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” she coos. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, it’s just… I just really cared about him, and, I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” she replies soothingly. “It’s always hard to lose someone you care about.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he grumbles. “I’m just going through a rough patch. I’ll be okay.”

“Stay optimistic,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll meet someone else, right? There are plenty of fish in the sea.”

Kent knows she means well, but he wants to throw his phone at the wall.

“Thanks, Ma,” he says again. “Listen, I gotta go. I have to work on this watercolor study due on the first day of class.”

“Okay, sweetie,” she says, still affecting her good-mom voice. “I’ll call later, okay? Make sure you get something good to eat.”

He doesn’t mention that he hasn't eaten well in weeks. “I will.”

“Bye, sweetie.”

“Bye, Ma.”

He doesn’t work on his watercolors. Instead, he bundles up in blankets that long ago stopped smelling like Jack, and naps until it grows dark. He wakes up groggy, still tired, and still pissed.

He gets one text right before he falls asleep again.

Jack (1:14): Please let me know that you’re okay. 

He ignores it and rolls over, willing himself not to cry before drifting off again.


End file.
